Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.
What I thought was going to be an investigation into my expenses turns out to be nothing of the sort: instead, a charming young woman is trying to sell me life insurance.
It’s probably a fault I picked up from my mother, who until she met my father used to be a very up-and-coming star on Broadway.
On the scale of outrages this ranks fairly low but I am driven to complain by a desire for simplicity and purity.
But if, like me, you are miserably fussy about your tea, then you will know that you never clean the inside of a teapot.
I just woke up with my leg like this.
I don’t want to be completely idle but just as William of Ockham advised us not to multiply variables, I do not want to add unnecessarily to my burdens.
This is my default way of dealing with things. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
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